When we hear this morning’s Gospel lesson, our minds gently wander – much like a sheep, actually – to a picture of a lush hillside carpeted with thick, green grass, a stream of water that laughs and chuckles in frivolity as it splashes over dark, water-worn, glass-smooth rocks and boulders. The tree-line stands in stoic guardianship in the distance. Then, you hear it: the giddy call of playful, little lambs as they rise up from the dell and come around the hill, bouncing and dancing towards the pastures green and waters sweet. Above it all is the baritone voice of the shepherd, calling the lambs by name, keeping the sheep close and under his watchful eye. This is called a pastoral scene. Pastor, from the Latin word for shepherd.
Ah…those lambs. Those precious,
giddy, lambs. Those innocent, white-as-snow lambs. That’s the picture we love
to have of ourselves as we hear these words of Jesus in this morning’s Gospel
lesson and we love to sing about it: “I am Jesus’ little lamb…”
Oh, the joy of being a lamb of
the Good Shepherd. We know His voice, how He speaks to us in love. We know His
Words He speaks to us in blessing. We
hear His instructions of how to live together as His sheep. “The Lord is my
shepherd,” we recite, “I shall not want.” (Ps. 23:1)
Then why, some days, does it feel
like instead of being His darling, little lambs we are instead the black sheep
of the family – not because of what He has done, but because of what we do?
Like a stubborn lamb, we
deliberately and willfully do what we want instead of hearing the Shepherd and
listening to His voice. We hide the secret Facebook relationship and the
Instagram photos, we disguise the gambling debt, we camouflage the physical
harm we do to our bodies with the pills, we pretend this week’s drunken binge
was different. Like a foolish lamb,
who wanders away from the Shepherd, we trick ourselves into thinking those harsh,
sharp words said to our spouses and children didn’t cut that deeply, we
out-and-out lie to ourselves by pretending that we can take care of ourselves
and everything is under control. Like a coy lamb, not realizing the
danger of hiding from the Shepherd, we hide our guilt so well that we can
almost convince ourselves our sin doesn’t exist – almost, being the key word. We
justify it by saying, “Well, we’re not as bad as so & so,” or “At least I
didn’t do what that sheep did.” We play the game, until, like a lost lamb,
we find ourselves so enwrapped in the darkness that we don’t know where to
turn. To paraphrase Psalm 49, in fear we wonder if this is the end; if death is
to be our shepherd, with our forms consumed and no place left to dwell (Ps.
49:14-16)?
Repentance: this is the cry of a helpless,
lost lamb. Repentance confesses that
these sins have gotten us nowhere except lost and separated from the Good
Shepherd. Repentance drags them out of the darkness, out of the wilderness, and
out into the Light. Repentance forces us to identify what we have done and what
we have left undone. Repentance is sorrow over what we have done and what we
haven’t done. Repentance is admission that we cannot save ourselves, no matter
how hard we try; but, at the same time, we no longer want to continue doing
what it is that we are doing. Repentance cries out, to paraphrase Romans 7,
“Who will rescue this lost sheep from this body of death?”
Repentance – Christian repentance
– has one more key aspect besides sorrow and the desire to stop being foolish
sheep: faith. Faith says, “yes, I am a terribly sinful sheep, but I have a
greater Good Shepherd.” Repentance turns, in faith, to the Good Shepherd and
says, simply, “Lord, have mercy on me a sinful sheep.”
There is only one thing to do
with sheep like this – disobedient, wandering, spiteful sheep. Someone must
die.
“I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus
says, “and I lay down my life for the sheep.” That is a marvelous twist: the Good for the
sinful; the holy for the unholy; the blameless for the fault-stained; the
Shepherd for the sheep. Four times in these few verses, Jesus repeats the
theme: I lay down my life for the sheep.
Death is not our shepherd (Ps 49:14), but death is the price our
Shepherd receives for us. This Good Shepherd literally trades Himself, His life
and His death for our death… and for our life.
I remember hearing the story of
Gelert, the great wolfhound of Llywelyn the Great of Wales. “In this legend,
Llywelyn returns from hunting to find his baby missing, the cradle overturned,
and Gelert with a blood-smeared mouth. Believing the dog had savaged the child,
Llywelyn draws his sword and kills Gelert. After the dog's dying yelp Llywelyn
hears the cries of the baby, unharmed under the cradle, along with a dead wolf
which had attacked the child and been killed by Gelert. Llywelyn is overcome
with remorse and buries the dog with great ceremony.” In the small town of
Beddgelert, Wales, there stands a statue to honor the legend of the faithful
dog who traded his life for the life of his master. [1]
Our Good Shepherd is not a legend; our
Good Shepherd is no longer dead and buried in a hillside in Israel. Jesus
is the living fulfillment of every shepherd of the Scriptures. Where David used
three stones to slay Goliath, Jesus had three nails driven into His hands and
feet. Where Amos of Tacoa had to say, “Thus saith the Lord,” Jesus would say,
“I am the way and the truth and the life, no one comes to the Father except
through me.” Where the shepherds worshipped the newborn Jesus wrapped in
humility, Jesus stands in glory, resurrected and alive.
Our Good Shepherd, who laid down His
life for the sheep, has also taken it back up again, just as He promised. He
now stands victorious, having conquered death and the grave, redeeming us from
the eternal death our wandering lostness deserves.
Close your eyes for a moment; I
want to try to paint a picture for you of what this looks like. Imagine a cute,
soft, little lamb. He’s fluffy and clean, the words “bright eyed and bush
tailed” describe this little lamb perfectly. Now, imagine that lamb is lost in
the woods. The sky is dark, twilight is coming. The trees are imposing
sentinels denying the lamb’s freedom. It’s been raining and the ground is a
muddy, puddled, sloppy mess. Look closely at the lamb: that beautiful, white
fleece is choked heavy with mud, rain, sticks and leaves. The lamb’s face isn’t
calm and gentle; the eyes are wide in fear and jerk side-to-side at the
unfamiliar and frightening sounds. It wants to run again, but it’s too tired;
its sides heave in and out trying to catch its breath. Let your vision drift
rearward, focusing past the lamb because back there, in the shadows, you see
something moving. It’s big, whatever it is, and its moving slowly, to not
startle the lamb. Shhh…listen. Do you hear that? It’s a man’s voice, baritone,
calling softly and gently, calling out to the missing lamb. Moving gently but
swiftly, he comes to the lamb, holds it, and swiftly examines it for wounds.
Picking the lamp up out of the mud, the shepherd places the tired, worn out
lamb on his shoulders and carries it out of the woods, back to the waiting
flock.[2]
This is the picture of Jesus caring
for His lost sheep. Notice, He doesn’t just take the lamb home; He takes it to
the waiting flock. To help us remain faithful and live in His grace, He gathers
us into a flock called a congregation that is cared for by a shepherd called a
pastor. In the Greek New Testament, the word for church means “the called out
ones.” We have been called out, and then called together, by the voice of the
Good Shepherd. We call this a congregation. Congregation is derived from the
Latin congregatio which means,
literally, the herded-together ones. And called together, herded together, we
live together, work together, play together; we worship together, receive the
gifts of God together. We watch out for each other in times of sorrow and
struggle, walking along side each other so that no one is left alone. We repent
together and receive the gifts of forgiveness together. Together, we hear the
voice of the Good Shepherd. He speaks His Word to us, He leads us to
Baptismal waters and feeds us His body and blood, He binds us up in His love, He
seeks out, rescuing and redeeming those who are lost.
I started this sermon by saying how it
sometimes feels like we are the black sheep of the family. Now, let’s sing
about who we are, herded together in the blood of the Good Shepherd. Open your
hymnal to #740. And, together, as baptized, forgiven, redeemed little lambs of
God, we are able to sing:
“I am Jesus little lamb, ever glad at
heart I am;
For my Shepherd gently guides me,
Knows my needs and well provides me,
Loves me every day the same,
Even calls me by my name.” [3]
No comments:
Post a Comment